05.

“Himchan! Earth to Himchan!”

Sometimes, on those particular days I didn’t feel like doing anything, I liked to pretend I was asleep. Head down, cheeks pressed to the cool surface of the desk, I’d leave my eyes closed in sad attempt to ignore the rough hands that shook my shoulders. It was the perfect excuse, both ears plugged with earbuds supposedly playing music (though, everyone except Hyungjun knew my parents had taken up my mp3 player last week).

“Sheesh, I know you’re not really asleep Himchan; and plus, you’re not even listening to anything right now! Hyosung told me your mom fused your player.”

I was going to murder Hyosung tomorrow.

Grunting, I let Hyungjun pull me up, glaring mutely at him as he tore away my earphones and sat himself (uninvited) on my desk. The fact that I’d been ignoring him just seconds past being left forgotten, he grinned at me wildly, running his fingers past his dark trimmed hair. Either he was stupid (which, I highly didn’t doubt) or whatever he wanted to tell me must have been good. It better be good.

“So I’ve got a huge scoop.” He paused for a second, a sad attempt to raising nonexistent anxiety, “Your best friend, that Yongguk kid, guess who I just saw with him a minute ago.”

I frowned; and then frowned some more.

Yongguk. Bang Yongguk.

He was a friend, a dear one at that, but it shouldn’t have mattered to me just who he was with or what he was doing. We were friends and as stupid as he was, I wasn’t one to dictate all his actions.

“I don’t care, get off my desk Hyungjun.”

“No, no, you’ll care about this.” He grinned again, twisting on my desk to face completely toward me, his legs flying to each other sides of my body. In a sense, I was trapped. “You know that genius girl from class 2-1? Uh, what’s her name, Song Eunji?”

“Jieun? Song Jieun? Ms. Prodigy?”

He nodded eagerly, pleased of actually having caught my attention for once.

(The fact that it was impossible for a story to relate Ms. Genius and stupid Yongguk was the only reason I was even the slightest interested. The only reason the school’s dearest model student would be found with Yongguk was if my stupid friend had been caught with the smoking bunch on campus - and gotten caught, while playing look out, the idiot.)

“Yeah her.”

“What about her?”

I narrowed my eyes, drawing lips between teeth, head already trying to figure out ways to apologize to the head girl and not get Yongguk stuck on the school’s hate list.

“Oh yeah, I totally saw her and Yongguk outside by the old oak tree during lunch break. They were swapping numbers and all. And, get me, she was smiling. , I think that was the first time I saw her smile so big. Yongguk too. Looks like he’s a dude too after all!”

I hit him, frowning. Of course Yongguk was a dude. But that didn’t mean he would’ve been going to around flirting with Jieun like that. He and I both knew, Song Jieun was off limits. She was aual. That would have gone a hundred and twenty five percent against our bro code.

He could have at least told me. It’s not like I would’ve gotten mad.

And just then, as if his entrance had been prescripted, Yongguk trudged in through the class door then, a wide grin painting his lips a color only I should have been able.

(I didn’t approve.)

“Speak of the devil.”

Glaring at Hyungjun, I shoved him off my desk, leaving him, a pile on the floor, to catch Yongguk at his seat. I wanted answers. What was he doing with Jieun?

Stopping as his desk, I glared at him, continuing so until he pulled me down in the seat next to him by my wrist. The goofy grin on his lips told me he had something to tell me. Something I’d already heard second ago from my walking scandal maker of a friend.

“Himchan,” he hummed, voice low but high (the sort of high that made you see puppies and sunshine), a laugh, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Gripping my shoulders, pulling me close, Yongguk leaned in, closer and closer until his breath painted against my ear. “Himchan.”

Wet.

I winced, snapping my eyes open with a gasp, hand immediately going to my cheek to check for the wet spot.

And indeed, it was wet.

And maybe if not for the light weight pushing down against my chest, I might have bothered give more shock to having just while I was asleep.

(It was a dream - nightmare?)

Rubbing the wet patch on my cheek with the crumpled sheets around me, I blinked up at the figure sitting on me, a brilliant, too familiar, smile on pinkish lips.

“Junhong?”

“Meow.”

I smiled, just a little. As queer as it was, waking up with a morning to the face, watching Junhong with his bright eyes and sweet smile was too endearing to ignore. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded being woken this way every day - save the , the , I’ll pass.

“Still playing kitty?”

He nodded back cheerfully, laying down against me and nuzzling his face against my chest with a fake pur. It was cute, I’ll admit.

Curling Junhong up in my arm, I rolled over, taking the squealing boy with me as I thrashed around the bedsheets. Destroying the bed before getting up was a daily tradition of mine, not something that I’d break because Junhong decided he was going to sit on me.

Junhong squealed in my arms, giggling and telling me to (quote, unquote), “Stop.”

“I thought cats couldn’t talk,” I laughed, rolled onto my stomach and squishing the kid between me and the sheets. Mind you, not enough to actually crush him. Just enough to have him squirm.

“Not a cat,” he gasped between fits of giggles, “no kitty.”

Supposing that a good enough response, the best one I’d get for the moment, I rolled off with a snicker, tucking Junhong under my arm as I made out toward the kitchen. Junhong was a whole lot lighter than I’d imagined; it still shocked me everyday.

Another shock, my poor heart, was finding Yongguk manning the kitchen.

My first reaction was to panic.

“Sheesh, calm down.”

He was rolling his eyes, laughing, but this wasn’t his kitchen that was at stake. He could burn down the freaking thing. Bang Yongguk didn’t know how to cook - or, at least, he hadn’t the last time I’d seen him (which, admittedly, had been a while back).

Still laughing, Yongguk pushed me toward the dining table, Junhong aiding in the act by taking my hand. “I promise I didn’t burn down the kitchen, alright?”

Not alright.

But it wasn’t as if I could do much about it.

With worry heavy in my heart, all I could do was watch (passenger seat drive) as Yongguk finished up his supposed breakfast (it was eleven, a time well past the usual breakfast hour). He could have (should have, for the sake of my sanity) stopped with a single bowl of cereal or even instant noodles. None of us would have minded having cereal - or even just a glass of milk for that matter.

Unfortunately, I was faced with a full set meal in front of me, complete with miso soup and perfectly fried sunny-side up eggs sitting just in front of me. A full course meal I hadn’t had in years (living alone, you began to lose meaning of making a complete meal).

“You should fill your fridge more often. I mean, come on, half the things in there were either spoiled or about to go bad.” He frowned, sitting in the seat across from me with his chopstick pointed toward me in nag. “I expected better from you, Kim Himchan.”

“Oh come on, give me a break.” Taking a chopstick of rice, I shoved it in Yongguk’s mouth before he could start again. “I’m a college student, I don’t have time to buy groceries, never mind clean out the fridge.” Finishing out with a puckered lip, I smirked in victory as Yongguk mumbled an okay, turning down to his bowl of rice.

It took me a little longer than a minute to actually bring the courage to put food to mouth though. If memory served, Yongguk had pitifully failed culinary class.

As I picked at my food, Yongguk watched me carefully, waiting for me to access his cooking (while off to Yongguk’s side, Junhong shoved large spoonfuls of rice in his mouth, grappling for cup of water - which Yongguk had to help him with - when he began choking from too much).

I was going to need more than courage to get past this morning.

(An off switch to my taste buds would be nice.)

Taking in a gulp of breath, I picked my spoon, finished swishing around the tofu in my soup to take a spoonful.

And luck me, I didn’t die.

Based on previous memory of Yongguk’s food turning into a queer science experiments in class, I’d almost expected to make a mad dash toward the toilets upon taking a spoon of his food. (Junhong was Yongguk’s kid, his obsessive shoving of food could have been just as easily been excused as a fine example of destroyed taste buds.) It was edible. In fact, it was more than edible. It actually tasted nice.

What a shocker.

When I didn’t make a comment, taking another spoonful with less force and tension in my arms, Yongguk seemed to take my silence as a sort of compliment or okay for the food quality. Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned back to his food (and his kid), taking a spoon of rice and soup before wiping Junhong’s cheeks of stuck rice.

“How was it?” Yongguk only decided to question once the dishes were cleared, the both of us at the sink, sleeves rolled up and bubbles flying.

I don’t know what Yongguk was exactly wanting from me. Did he want me to compliment him? (Because that, I could do). But why was he wanting approval from me?

“It was nice.”

He stared, sideways, at me for a minute, scoffing then turning back to the bubbles and dishes.

“I’m serious,” I argued, splashing him with suds. “It was really nice. Million better than the scrambled egg you tried to make in middle school.”

He coughed. “That, was supposed to be an egg wrap.”

I shrugged. “Point proven.”

He made a noise (something that reminded me of the sound Junhong made the other night) from his throat before bumping - ramming - into me from the side, cheeks tinting a pink in return. I stumbled, stopping myself just barely before tripping over the sink rug.

“What,” I whined, rubbing my hip where he bumped, “that was a compliment.”

“I realize, and that was my way of expressing thanks.”

He was such a kid.

“We should retech you manners.” Because it wouldn’t do - even if he was just joking with me to cover up for his bashful blush - if he so decided to punch his manager in the face to show his gratitude when receiving his paycheck.

(Actually, this would have better explained him getting fired from his part time jobs than Junhong supposedly making a fuss.)

The morning’s fiasco, as welcome as it was (a positive change from my usual rolling around the boiling of coffee), ended up eating through the whole lot of my preparing time, catching me by the surprise when Yuri texted me asking if I could meet with her after class to discuss our project in our performance class.

That gave me about ten minutes to wash up and run out of the house with fresh clothes on.

Scrambling around the house, tripping over my pant legs when trying to multitask clothing and brushing down my hair, I made just barely enough time to rush out the house, receiving my bag from a snickering Junhong. I spared the whole of three seconds to press a kiss to the crown of Junhong’s head.

I was late to class (arriving red faced from running in the cold) and with everyone’s eyes on me, but if it meant anything, the morning had been totally worth it.

Crashing into my seat next to Yuri, I graciously accepted her offer of water (Kwangseok must have told her, because she giggled as I garbled out a thank you).

“Are you late to all your classes Himchan?” She whispered, eyes squinting to little half circles, nudging me playfully in the elbow.

“Not all of them.” Though, a good majority.

She didn’t seem to take me seriously, pressing back a laugh with her left hand, scribbling down notes from the blackboard. Believe me or not (late or not), at least my grades still ranked higher than her’s (Yuri was a diligent student, no one could deny that, but her grades didn’t speak too well of her attempts).

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back down onto the desk with a sigh. Running to class had made me hungry again. I’d need to remember to pick something up (groceries, before Yongguk nagged at me some more) on the way back home later today. So instead of paying attention to class, I ended up making a list of things to buy, chewing at far end of my pencil in thought.

Class rolled by nice and fast when I wasn’t paying attention.

With musical history over, I waved to Yuri (catching her exactly two times before she actually scrambled out of sight, and still after tripping thrice - she was too clumsy) and made to my Chinese class, running into Hyungjun on the way there. It was still a wonder whether or not I was glad he and I shared of a like schedule this semester (even if he didn’t make it to class half the time, too busy playing around).

“How’d it go with Junhong?” Was the greeting I got today, Hyungjun’s eyes still bright in memory of the other night. “Did he still want to drink milk from a bowl on the floor?”

“Thank god no. I wouldn’t have known what to tell his dad if he did that.” Yongguk would have laughed. “I got him to eat from a table, but only after I promised him a lollipop. Thanks for dropping by yesterday though. You’re a life saver.”

“Not a problem. Though, now you owe me. You should do my Chinese final for me.”

“In your dreams.”

Before Hyunjun had a chance to complain more, class began then, our middle aged instructor walking in a horribly accented ‘Nihao’ we all knew was fake. Even Junhong would have known the guy wasn’t really Chinese as he tried to come off as.

My enthusiasm to the subject, not just me but everyone else as well, was rewarded with yet another project (this time, one resulting a grand total of thirty percent of or finals grade). It was to be written completely in Chinese. The guy was crazy and needed to be fired.

Just how much did he expect from a bunch of intermediate leveled students?

It would have been a miracle if we could introduce ourselves properly.

(你好. 我叫金力燦.)

With the end of the semester just at our doorsteps, the end to the winter semester, the professors seemed more than eager to pile work on to make up for the month previous wasted.

Mind and body heavy, returning back home didn’t sound so nice anymore.

(Going home meant having to start my more than plenty of projects.)

“Hey, can you watch Junhong for me again please?”

In the living room, my laptop sitting in my lap, I looked up toward the doorway to find a frowning Yongguk. “Sure, I don’t mind.” Not one bit, so long as Junhong promised not to bite anymore.

He flashed me a thankful smile - not the bright one from my dream earlier this morning - and turned toward his kid, pressing a thousand kisses all over the poor kid’s face and whispering reminders to be good. “I’ll see you guys later, thanks again Himchan!”

Waving him away, within minutes, Junhong and I were left alone in the apartment, me on my laptop, tapping away, trying to get the squiggly lines (supposedly Chinese) out correctly while Junhong talked to the tv (at Mickey Mouse, to be specific). It was a nice change for a quiet, almost scary apartment alone. Junhong made good company (minus the little squeals he’d make when Mickey wouldn’t listen to his heeds).

When six o’clock rolled around, I got up, stretched and went to the kitchen to fix us something to eat with Junhong hot on my tail. With the dining room chair pushed up to the island top table, he helped (distracted) make dinner (pizza, homemade bread pizza).

Kids were easier to take care of feed than Hyungjun made it out to be. Apparently, Hyungseok had been a monster come dinner time, refusing to eat anything his brother offered him. Frankly, I liked to think of it as karma; just as karma had come to bite me in the past, it had too done its fair toll on my bratty, picky friend.

With food and medicine (the cough syrup - Yongguk had been right, Junhong did like the artificial strawberry flavoring) down, we sprawled across the living room floor again together, Junhong’s head on my thighs as I flicked through the channels.

Three programs later, I carried a sleeping Junhong to the guest room, tucking him in.

Junhong looked the cutest when he was asleep, thumb in his mouth, wrinkled and covered in saliva (he’d best break the habit, before the cute factor wore thin).

Petting him, the stray locks from his eyes, I’d made it exactly three steps away from the bed when Junhong whimpered, reaching out for me. “Hyung.”

He didn’t want to sleep, at least not until daddy came back home. The guest room was too dark and lonely for him alone. And failing to convince him otherwise, I let him follow me back out in the living room, falling back into our prior pose sprawled out awkwardly on the sofa watching tv.

“We’re staying out,” yawn, “just until daddy comes home, alright Junhong?”

He nodded, agreeing with a yawn of his own.

But neither of us really lasted until Yongguk came home.

Because when I woke up, still a little dazed, I was tucked in bed, a low glimmer of light from the living room seeping in through the bedroom door before flickering off.

a/n: short chapter. and second double update. i was supposed to post this yesterday (two days ago, according to my clock) since my second written achievement was 1200 views. but i didn't have one written ready, so i'm posting as soon as i got it done now. i need to go to sleep now.

i hurt my tongue. it hurts. i was also going to say something else, but i forgot what. i need to get back to plotting out the rest of this series. because i'm running out of plotted chapters. i have seven plotted. this story isn't going to be very long, btw.